Revenio de Nihilum
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: "Return from Nothing" The thing was, it shouldn't have been possible. He shouldn't have been able to come within more than a hundred light years of the planet, not in this era. But there it was-Gallifrey.


**Return**

**Disclaimer: Doctor Who is not mine. I know this because I am still a fund-less teen.**

**Summary: He doesn't know how, or even why. But somehow, against the laws of physics, nature, and luck, he's back. And as fate would have it, he's not alone. **

He doesn't know why he's come here. There is nothing but war and death and sacrifice and bad memories and…

Typically he'll walk into situations like this unaware of this circumstances. But this time, he knew. He knew when his pull down the lever, pushed that silver button, and wound up the flex-vac contortionor. It was a conscious action, but an unconscious decision.

The thing was, it shouldn't have been possible. He shouldn't have been able to come within more than a hundred light years of the planet, not in this era. But there it was-Gallifrey.

Along with several fleets of Dalek ships. Two hundred and eighty seven, if he's not mistaken. Yes, he remembers well. He personally took out eighty of them himself, right before….

He shouldn't be here! It made no sense, the Time Lock prevented anyone from returning, ever! There isn't even any reason for him to be here—the past is the past. He's not here to change events. He isn't sure why he's come, why he's watching from the TARDIS monitor as his home planet is ripped to shreds by Daleks. All logic tells him to go back, fly away to twentieth century France, or take a holiday to Hedron Pax. Yet something is holding him back. He's drawn to the planet, pulled to watch history move in to the present. His own personal hell.

So he lands.

Outside the TARDIS, the sky is amber. Most likely from the flames coming forth from the forest just beyond the city—the city of Cycradel? It's a valley. He can see the mountains, majestic, surrounding the city. There are even some silver-leaf trees. As the wind whips up his hair, the leaves flutter, making a silver fire that does not burn. Home.

It's like a memory, a ghost of a location. None of this feels real. Surely, it must be a dream. A terrible, wonderful dream. He feels utterly alone, suddenly. Even though he is surrounded, for the first time in decades, by people of his own species. The Doctor can only shake his head and attempt to gather his bearing. Perhaps he might be able to analyze his surroundings in a few moments.

He's landed in a relatively safe area. The TARDIS is literally down the street from the congregational hall reigning Time Lords gather in. If his clock is correct—and it's always correct-the local leadership ought to be having a gathering right now to discuss defense.

The eighth version of him is somewhere to the north and in the sky above leading his own fleet to a victory. Is today the day? The day he'll change from an Edwardian-styled romantic to a hard, aloof U-boat captain?

If these were times of peace, someone would be here, demanding to know why he'd felt the need to perform an unauthorized TARDIS landing in a civilian area. But these are times of war. The sort of people who would come to scold him for such actions would be up there, fighting with the rest of them. Therefore, he isn't worried about his illegal parking. Nobody here to hand out the tickets.

"You can't have landed here!"

He turns, surprise causing his double hearts to lurch. A tall girl with long wavy blonde hair stands beside his TARDIS, hands on her hips. He notes a sonic blaster and laser restrains attached to her belt. She's young, probably on her first or second regeneration. Young and brave. Possibly stupid. Not just anyone would take on a senior Gallifreyian. He marvels at her. Another Time Lady. A child, practically. Young and vibrant, with centuries ahead of her. Physically she can't be more than twenty by human standards. She's a new generation, a new era!

And she's going to die. Soon, in fact. At his hand.

_There was no choice. Nothing you could do._

They were his people. She one of his people.

_Gallifrey, or the universe? Doesn't matter—both lost._

So what, if he were selfish? An entire race was wiped out, because of him.

_You tried everything, there wasn't any other option. _

"Excuse me? Violation of code seven seventy-four: no landing TARDIS or other time-craft in civilian homesteads if the population exceeds ten thousand."

The girl hadn't shut up, but told his straight out to move his arse so as to move his TARDIS. She's tossing her long, wavy hair, eyebrows raised. He can't help but be reminded of a former companion with a similar temperament. This girl is young, too. Vibrant, like they all were. Had been. It's hard, uses proper tenses when your residency is a time ship.

"I'll be leaving shortly. I just came for a quick stop. Refuel." He tells her. The lie is pathetic, but the best he can come up with after the initial shock. He shouldn't be surprised to see Time Lords here, this is their native planet after all. Still, just to see one alive, and so young….

"You'll need to move it soon. People will notice and I can't have them complaining." She tries to sound weathered and tough, but only manages nervous and weary. He doesn't say a word, merely looks to the sky. Dalek saucers are visible on the horizon, green lights and copper shells glittering. The Doctor props himself against a section of stone wall, eyeing the child.

"Shouldn't you be up there, fighting?" The girl isn't scolding, as some older Time Lords certainly would. She's genuinely curious. The propaganda made it sound as if every capable, able-bodied Time Lord was out there acting as warriors, especially those with ships. He remembers the sudden burst of patriotism that overtook his planet during the last Great Time War.

"No." He says shortly.

The girl isn't sure how to react. The reply is blunt, uneasily focused upon. "But what about your ship?" Everyone with a TARDIS was up there, fighting.

"I said she was here for an energy boost. Whined about it, mind you, for ages. But took me awhile. Just hope this quiets her for a time."

How very odd. Few referred to their ships as "she"; TARDIS were machinery, not sentient beings.

"Where are you from?" She expects him to say "North." Most renegades claimed as much—the North was unattached politically, so there was little chance of offending anyone when you named off your homeland. Besides, he has that funny accent they all seem to have.

He surprises her. "Out there." And he gestures toward the sky.

"But I thought you said—"

"Not the war." He interrupts. "Space. The universe, out there."

Weirder and weirder. "S'not true. That's impossible."

"Oh really? And why's that?"

She straightens her shoulders, stare up at the older Time Lord. Even though he's a rude as Rassilon and even more irritating, she sees a flash of humor run through his hazel eyes.

"We're in a Time Lock. Nothing in, nothing out."

"Ah. That's where you're wrong."

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes." He doesn't elaborate further.

"How can you be here?"

Nothing.

"What is your name?"

"The Doctor."

"That's not a name." She reminds him. Name or not, it's familiar, niggling at the back of her mind.

"It's mine."

The girl ponders the argument. "Why are you here?" It can't be merely to restock energy cells. He is looking for something , even if he doesn't realize it himself.

He doesn't answer, but turns his eyes away from the young Time Lady and back to the burning sky. She watches him, transfixed. She ought to be patrolling—Father left her to patrol in his place. Reason tells her to move on, leave this veteran to muse and more.

"You're going to die." He says in a calm manner, not looking away from the above scenery.

She blinks. "Yes. Everyone dies."

Her equal certainty unsettles him. The girl understands mortality. At her age, he'd barely an inkling of it. The Doctor wonders, briefly, if her response would be the same if she knew what was about to transpire here, in Gallifrey.

"Everything must end."

"What?" She's clearly confused. The Doctor is sorry for it—sorry that one so young must die. He clears his throat.

"Nothing. What are you doing here? I thought all officers disbanded to join the war."

The girl fidgets, tugging on the hem of her regulation coat. "They did. But Father left the position to me. He said the government thinks things like traffic regulation is unimportant—and he was right, they cut all programs. He held to the theory, however, that people liked things to be as normal as possible in times of war. So he upheld his duty and continued."

The Doctor nodded. He could appreciate the idea. "So, you're here to ticket me?" He asks, amused.

"I can't. Still don't have the authority."

"You said your father…"

"He's up there." She jerks a thumb upward.

"Ah." The Doctor stuffs awkward hands into to his pockets, watching her. The girl is uncomfortable, obviously—crossed arms, hunched shoulders, feet planted firmly on the soon-to-be-annihilated ground. He wishes he could explain himself, warn her. Yet there's nothing to be done. She is fated to die. History cannot be changed—especially when concerning a Time War.

She's opened her mouth to speak again, when there's an explosion in the distances. Behind her. She whips around to see the city congregational hall aflame. And a Dalek ship just on the near horizon, hovering over its destruction. The girl's eyes grow wide with shock, fear, worry, hate and a thousand other emotions. The Doctor himself is frozen. He can do nothing but watch, now, as Daleks materialize upon city streets in hoards. Seven organized units land directly in front of the congregational hall. Bellows of the electronic "E-X-T-E-R-M-I-N-A-T-E!" ring throughout the air.

They pair stand stock-still as the units advance. Nothing can be done. Alarms sounds, alerting those who can find an escape that _now is the time_. Now is the time to flee, to run, to die. Now is the time.

The Doctor can do nothing but watch as the girl stares up at him. "Help us."

Somehow, she knows.

He cannot answer. There is nothing to say.

"_Help us!"_ She's screaming, moving toward him, in utter anguish. "Please."

The Time Lord stares into her bright eyes. "I can't." He says softly, hanging his head. _I'm up there trying._

The girl gives him only three more seconds of her time, then she's off. Pulling her sonic blaster from its halter, she runs forward to do what she can. The Doctor is nearly choking himself to prevent any sort of warning. She's meant to die. It's already happened. He's just watching the reruns.

Before the nameless girl can sacrifice herself (rather needlessly, in his mind), there is another explosion directly in front Dalek unit. The Doctor could swear this all occurs in a sickening slow motion. Flames come up in great cauliflower-shaped poofs, clouds of gray-black smoke following. From here, he can feel the throbbing heat from the blast. The girl falls onto her back, head bouncing morbidly off the ground like a child's rubber ball.

Surely it's Time Lord—no Dalek ship would destroy their own unit.

She's not dead. From here he can feel her double life pulse, a double pulse he has not heard in some time. This cannot comfort him. Today must be the day.

Without another word, the Doctor turns back to his beloved ship. He enters and stands stroking the consol. Then, gripping the lever just a tad too tight, he pulls down, sending his ship into orbit. It is time to go. Nothing can be done.

In his mind, the images of the nameless girl falling repeat again and again. There is the explosion, a rush of heat, she's turning and falling, face and body contorted as her weight hits the ground. Blood oozes from the tiny slices across her cheeks. Eyes flutter shut when the heat touches her flesh, when the impact becomes too much. She is broken. She is dying, regardless of whether she knows it or not. Perhaps not from this particular event, but soon.

He realizes that he does not even know her name.

It is a shame, really. To leave her to die, and not even honor her memory with the grace of her name.

Hands move before he comprehends what is happening. He's pulling on levers, spinning gears, pushing buttons. The TARDIS hums in agreement. The Doctor shakes his head slowly. Honestly, he shouldn't. He ought to return to Earth, or the Vortex. Still, he adjusts controls and flicks switches, pumps pulls and twists knobs. And then…

It is almost as though he's not actually going through the motions himself, but watching as an outsider. The Doctor moves to the TARDIS door, opens it slowly as to fully appreciate the chaos outside. He steps out, again slowly. Walks down the street. The blasts and the gun fire and the noise all seem to escape the man's notice. His eyes are fixed ahead as he walks. He reaches the destination, the place where a young, blonde girl lies among bits of building and Dalek, rubble. Wordless, he scopes her up, careful to mind her head and evenly distribute the weight. The Time Lord walks steadily back to his ship, again ignoring the pandemonium occurring on Gallifrey. In his arms, the nameless girl moves not an inch.

He reaches his ship, which opens to him without effort. She's humming, warm, and inviting. Out of insight, she has moved the medical bay to the nearest left. The Doctor speaks not a word, merely steps forward to enter. The girl is placed upon a stark white bed. The TARDIS inquires after his next action. No answer is forth coming. The Doctor isn't resident of his own mind. Silent, he returns to the consol to reset coordinate. Thirty-eight seconds later, the ship is gone from Gallifrey, caught in the lonely, lonely realm of the Time Vortex.

The ship tries again to converse with her master, but he's still gone. She's not sure where, so instead of working through the complexities of his mind, she directs him to the med bay once more out of the hope that seeing the dying girl will ease him.

A torrent of emotions run through the elder Time Lord as he gazes upon his mistake. She's pale against paler sheets, scrapes, scratches and bruises standing out especially. Hair is spread out upon the foam of the pillow. Wrists face upwards. Eyes are sealed shut. He can only make her comfortable, hope that she wakes soon and wakes well. Then he will decide as to what shall happen next. His TARDIS hums to agree.

Hooking the girl to a few monitors certainly won't hurt, so he attaches electrodes to her forehead and a few pulse points. The sonic screw driver tells him there is no internal bleeding, only a few fractured ribs and a twisted ankle. But she ought to recover soon. Time Lords always do, he remembers. It's been so long since he's seen another of his kind, the fact hasn't been thought of in…ages.

With no other thing occupying his mind, the Doctor settles in to watch the still-nameless creature lying on his hospital bed. Now is the time to thoroughly examine her. Eyes flicking across her slight form, he finds that she reminds him of a great many people.

The nose looks an awful lot like River's. Her pouting, pink lips greatly resemble Rose's, as does the golden halo of hair—though its waves are reminiscent of Amy's tresses. And he can't help but recall Rose again at seeing those lashes. Skinny elbows—completely Sarah Jane. Cheek bones as high as Martha's had been. Are. Will be. Ah, time travel could be so confusing…

Even with all of these comparisons, he knows she is entirely her own person—with habits and quirks and secrets all her own.

And she is a Time Lady. He is no longer the last of his kind.

Maybe he never was.

**XXXXXXX**

The TARDIS fears for her master. He has not left his post in hours, diligently watching over the ill girl. The TARDIS stays steady in the Vortex, moving through the flow.

Things are relatively quiet, for now. The TARDIS has grown used to the quiet—her Time Lord has not brought a friend to partake of her abilities in some time. Years, maybe. Decades, perhaps. She, unlike him, does not feel loneliness. But she distinctly feels his aloneness, can acknowledge his need for companionship. No, the TARDIS is grateful for this girl, this little Time Lady.

She cannot recall the last person very well at all. It was a women, she is sure. Years after Amy. Decades after Sarah Jane. A century after Barbra. Who was this person? Did she die? Was she left behind, like Rose? Or did she choose to leave, decided it was time to move on?

Her master was so distraught. So alone. The worst of it was, there was nothing she could do. No place was merry enough, no time line filled with joy. She couldn't do _anything. _

Again, the TARDIS has no use and feels utterly useless. She is machine crafted to serve her Time Lord. Time and time again she's failed with technical difficulties, abductions and general problems in the Vortex. Why can't she, for once, stretch out and help her master?

**XXXXXXXXX**

The nameless girl sleeps for hours, which crawl by like years. He covers her with a blanket, as austere and white as the rest of the room. He does his best to clean off all blood and grime, gently blotting a cool cloth upon her face and exposed skin. The Doctor wonders if he ought to remove her clothing to put her into something a little more comfortable, but thinks better of it. Waking in an unfamiliar TARDIS will be confusing enough, new clothes will surely add to the worry.

Briefly, she stirs, blearily opening her eyes and moaning an unintelligible phrase. At this, he rushes to her side, taking her pale hand to pat it softly, whispering words of encouragement.

The girl gives no reply.

"I'm sorry." He whispers. "So sorry." He has made her an outsider, like himself. The last of her kind. The very last, soon. He's approaching his twelfth regeneration. Whoever she is, the nameless girl will be lost, stuck in a TARDIS that is completely time less. She will belong in no era, on no planet, to no species. She will be alone, utterly and entirely alone in this big, empty universe. He's given her life back, but not much else.

The Doctor is almost sure that if he had been given a choice, he might've died with his people. There are negatives to this—never meeting Rose, never meeting River, a severe lack of protection on Earth's front. Yet he is a coward. He chose to run, and this time he has condemned somebody else to his lonesome life.

How very weak.

How very typical.

He's such a stupid ape. A fool. Bone-dead stupid. Honestly.

But she had _asked. _This girl pleaded with him, practically begged him to save her and her people. Well, there was nothing he could do for the rest of planet. At least, her death could be prevented. Perhaps he'd always meant to save her. It was already written, meant to be. In other words, fate.

Fate. What a silly notion. Personally, he holds no stock in the idea. No, the Doctor believes in a set timeline. Fate is just so childish, created by mystics holding no true insight.

Another few hours pass before the girl officially wakes. It is nothing peaceful or elegant. Her eyes don't flicker slowly, but fly open to reveal startling pale eyes. All of the slim body jerks forward. She lets out a huge gasp of air, breath ragged—as though she's just run a marathon. The Doctor watches confusion, then distress play across her face over several seconds. Her head rises a few inches off the pillow as she scans the white room, eyes narrowing to see machines indicating their location. Finally, they fall on the older Time Lord.

"You," She starts, then falters to drift off. The youthful voice is harsh from sleep and he's glad she hasn't asked any questions, because he isn't sure if he can reply.

So he settles with a simple, "Yes."

The pair eye each other, slightly wary.

"You got me out."

"Yes."

She tries to sit up, but he stops her with a gentle hand. "Not yet. I ran scans, but I still don't know what hurts. So, what hurts?"

The nameless girl automatically answers. "My back. And my ribs."

"Your head?"

A hand creeps up to prod the skull, finding a punishing piece of flesh to wince about. She takes a moment to absorb the pain, then moves on mechanically. Field trained to assess herself for injury without the aid of advanced technology. Impressive.

"I think it is merely a bruise." She says softly.

He nods. "May I…"

"Yes," He feels her ribs for obvious breaks. Her back is bruised. The purple mark stretches across the shoulder blades, and there is a collection of scrapes and smaller bruises on her lower back. This girl lies stock-still throughout the examination.

When he's through, the Doctor pulls her shirt down. "Would you like something less…?"

"Grungy?"

He smiles. "Yes."

"Please, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. One moment, if you don't mind."

She gives a quiet giggle. He's almost sure she didn't mean to let him hear.

The Doctor returns in less than five minutes, tossing her a plain blouse and pair of jeans. She's obviously surprised—they were twenty, twenty-first century first world country Earth clothing. Not the fussy robes and metallics of Gallifrey. Nevertheless, she accepts the offering.

"Do you have a name?"

He starts, frowning. "Don't most people?"

"You would think so," She agrees. "But I've read the natives planet Marnexus don't believe in identifying yourself in just a few words, so they all go nameless. Bet it's a confusing life." She blushes, as if unsure of her own opinion. The Doctor is internally amused. Shy?

" I have already told you mine, remember? What is your name? Assuming you have one."

"Indeed." She clears her throat. Now the girl is fully sitting up, eyes wide. "Tatiana Skryla. But everyone calls me Lila."

The Doctor considers the girl—no, Tatiana—slowly. "Pretty. Do you remember now?"

She shakes her head. He hadn't expected her to, even if it was an odd one.

"The Doctor."

Tatiana blinks. "Doctor? That's it?"

He raises a brow. "Is anything else needed?"

She laughs hoarsely. "I suppose not. But you're not…_the _Doctor, are you?"

"I don't know what you mean. But I'm the only person I know of named 'Doctor.'"

"The man who was up there, fighting. He's a sort of renegade general. They say he was exiled from Gallifrey until the latest war. Then the High Counsel called him back to defend us. He's supposed to be…brilliant. But mad. Are you the Doctor?"

"I'm with you until the mad part." He says drily. "And the defense. They didn't call me back to defend anything; they wanted me as a scapegoat for their mistakes, their accidents. I fought out of my own will. Hence the 'renegade' notion, Miss Skryla."

Tatiana stares. "You're him. And you saved me."

"It would seem like it, yes." His voice is bitter. "Though, I wouldn't necessarily say _'saved.'_"

She starts to ask, but he tells her to get dressed and that there is a shower down the hall, first door on the left. He wants her to come back because he's not through checking for injuries. Tatiana nods silently and leaves.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

He sits alone in his library that night, reading over maps and books and documents, begging for distraction. Yet his own mind works against him, coming back with the same thought over and over again:

_You've condemned her._

Once Tatiana had gotten dressed, he'd run a few more scans, gave her some medication for the pain, then slinked out. She needed more sleep and he needed time. She hasn't asked too many questions, but he knows that's simply because she is tired and dazed. Once her senses return, the girl will be eager to know what happened, probably ask to return.

Even if he is able to go back, the Doctor isn't sure he _could_. He would knowingly leave her to her death. A death he ultimately caused.

The Doctor sighs, rubbing his eyes lids with a thumb and forefinger. He'll be guilty if he keeps her here and guilty if he takes her back. Either way, neither option is appealing.

**XXXXXXXX**

"Why are you one your own?"

She stands against the kitchen counter with a warm mug of Tekberry tea between her hands. Tatiana woke in the infirmary twenty minutes ago to the ship's uneven rocking. The first words out of the Doctor's mouth were: "Sorryboutthat, turbulence in the Vortex, messes with the interior stability somewhat. Well, not that often. It takes some getting used to, most TARDISes ride fairly smoothly."

Tati had blinked partially of sleep and partially of confusion, gave a quick nod, and followed him to the dining quarters. As a Time Lady, she didn't need to eat very often. But after the trauma suffered yesterday, it was essential to nourish herself. The Doctor seemed to agree to a point of enforcing the meal in a nonverbal fashion; he made pancakes.

The fluffy, sticky-sweet cakes did not appeal to the young Time Lady. Nevertheless, she ate without complaint. Food was food. Time Lords didn't focus on personal pleasure.

Following her question, the elder Time Lord stares. She realizes that perhaps the inquiry was a touch too personal, a bit prying. He's a powerful, ancient fellow who has killed without second thoughts. He's destroyed planets and timelines, been banished by his own people. Under the laws of the nature, he could easily take her out of the game for a comment like that. They've always said he was ruthless.

But he doesn't. Instead, the Doctor leans back in his chair, a look of concentration in his eyes. "Let's see… Sarah was left behind, Grace left, Nyssa left, Adric died, Tegan left, Ace…was misplaced, Martha left, Amy had to start her domestic-y married life, Rose was lost, River left, and Donna…let's say Donna was ill." He looks her in the eye. "There isn't anyone left. I wouldn't be on my own by choice, but I haven't got a choice."

She nods slowly, noting that he failed to say Amy had left. No, she had merely gone to start a family. Did he not consider that leaving?

Tati hadn't the faintest idea who these women were—lovers? Companions? They said her preferred the company of humans, perhaps…?

He sat back, pulling his own lukewarm mug back across the wood-topped table. He's not sure what to say to the girl, how to explain that she's now the last of her kind.

It's later in the control room when she asks.

"I know it's probably still dangerous, but…I was wondering if perhaps you could drop me off? My mother, she's probably down there worrying and I…" Tatiana isn't sure how to go on. For an indescribable reason, she feels the need to stay. The legend that saved her isn't exactly being friendly, but there is an aura of contentedness she gets around him, like he is unwilling glad of her company. He's the kind she can't see alone. True, he hasn't been horridly social, but she can just imagine him surrounded by people.

The Doctor is silent for a long time, staring down at the bronze surface of his consol. Caressing the cool surface, he considers the options. He could take her there; let her see that there is no way of going back and nothing to go back too. This would be a wordless method, the heartless method. Or he could just tell her, be blunt and kind. She needs to know. She needs to be able to go through the grief and pain, then reawaken to a new form of life.

"I…can't." He finally says. "The TARDIS need to recharge, she's running low and…"

Oh. So he's lying. Alright. Well, it was an option. Certainly not the best option.

"Oh. Didn't you refuel on Gallifrey? Wasn't that why you came?"

"Wasn't time." He says shortly.

Tatiana looks a little confused, but accepts his answer. She grips the railing as he pushes in coordinates. She can't see him smile from behind the central column. The girl is adapting well.

They set off to Earth, to the Rift in Cardiff. Tatiana is fairly quiet, though occasionally she'll ask a question. He finds she has not been trained to fly yet, that she hasn't even gone into university but is already on her second regeneration from a horrible childhood mishap when she was just eighty-five years old. Upon discovering this fact, he grabs her wrists to pulls her forward, grinning like a madman. "No time like the present to learn, eh Tatiana?"

Tati blushes and trails behind him. He points out key controls, rattling off names and uses. As they swing through the Vortex, the Doctor guides his pupil's stumbling fingers as they follow his instruction. He laughs when she presses the button for mustard, thinking it was the yellow flare release and the condiment slushes out of the spout. For the first time in years, he's having a ridiculous amount of fun teaching. The girl is shy and unfocused, nervous. The Doctor feels like a father again.

"Alright. Yes. We've made it. Alive too, I see. Well done, Tataina."

"Lila."

"Na, I prefer Tatiana."

"Oi, it's my name."

"And you're on my ship." He reminds her, pulling on his coat. "I like Tatiana. It's mature."

Just to prove her lack of maturity, Tati sticks her tongue out before following him out of the TARDIS. It is exhilarating to be around one so young, so curious. He cannot help but stick close, loom over her while they make their way around Cardiff. Every so often their shoulders brush and he gets the unfathomable longing to take her hand.

He ought not get too attached, even if she is a Time Lady.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

When they finish in Cardiff (Tati found it curious—she had not yet been to Earth), he distracted the younger Gallifreyan with the offer of anywhere, anywhere at all. Tatiana's eyes sparkle as she accepts, saying in a decided tone: _"Luvate."_

The Doctor laughs aloud as he sets coordinates, spinning around the consol, talking a million light years a minute. Tatiana giggles, then sobers when he throws her a few instructions. Once again, he guides her with his long fingers. As she smiles, executing his directions flawlessly, he is reminded of Rose and River and Susan. They were all taught in a similar manner, with gentle prodding and quiet remarks.

On their journey, Tati breaks their joint concentration to ask, "Why don't you speak Gallifreyan?"

He halts in his circuit around the center column, frowning. "I…haven't needed to in…ages."

She remembers the rumors of human lovers stolen from Earth and blushes.

"Most people I've been around lately are human, and British at that. There hasn't been a need. Occasionally I still do. When I'm alone."

She takes from his expression that _alone_ is a state he often finds himself in. And this is significantly displeasing.

Before anything else can be said, they've landed. The central column flares to glow a bright green as if say _"Go on, go!" _The Doctor grins. "Better do as the lady says."

Tati can't remember ever laughing so much in her life. He offers a hand, almost hesitantly.

She accepts without comment.

**XXXXXXXXX**

The watery planet is everything she expected, and more. The Gallifreyan pair are not on Luvate more than twenty minutes before they're running for their lives. Apparently in the next five years, he'll visit the planet again. Only, for them it was eight years previous. He's sure he honestly didn't mean to destroy their temple. It was probably an accident, he tells Tatiana. And nobody died. Could've been worse.

Once back on the TARDIS, he apologizes for shortening their trip. But Tati was too busy laughing.

The sound is welcome. He hasn't heard honest, genuine laughter in a long time. It's lovely. Awkward, loud, bone-shattering, lovely. The Doctor pauses, hand stuck on a wheel as he listens. Finally: "Doctor?"

Startled out of his thoughts, he jerks forward, spinning to face her. "Yes? Yes! Of course."

They're off again. The TARDIS engines roar to life, shaking the consol room. Tatiana clutches a column. The Doctor, seemingly unaware of the tossing of his ship, continues moving around the controls, whistling.

Tatiana waits. He's in constant motion and she's finding it difficult to pose her question. If the young Time Lady didn't know better, she would almost believe he was avoiding her. Surely not?

Ten minutes and thirty-eight seconds pass, and they've yet to land.

"Doctor, are we…"

"Hmm?" He looks up from the control screen.

"…landing anytime soon? I need to go back. My mother, she's all alone, you see. And I've got to patrol and…the attack. Somebody needs to alert the Council. We'll need reinforcement….Doctor?"

He's frozen again, face noticeably blank. Tati tilts her head.

"Doctor?"

"I…" He breathes. "I can't."

"What?"

The elder Time Lord turns mechanically. He sees her frowning, sees her innocent confusion. Thoughts clearly run through her eyes; worry, concern, distrust. "Tati…I can't."

Her mouth is open, but nothing comes out. She can't help but sink to the captain's chair as he starts his narration.

"Gallifrey, it's gone. Completely gone. There was a final battle and no other choice. Gallifrey… I got you out before it…the war, something had to be done. But…Tatiana, the war ended over thirty years ago, in my time. Ever since then I've travelled, on my own, you see. There's no one else. I'm the last of my kind."

Silence. Then:

"But…the Time Lock. You've…you're lying. You just want to keep me here like some sick pet, you old man! Gallifrey is still there. It's got be. A planet can't just…no. You're lying!"

He looks at her with mournful eyes. "We both know that's not true, Tatiana. Planets disappear all the time."

"It's can't be gone."

"I'm sorry."

Tati's shoulders sag. She's very quiet, until: "You couldn't have gotten past the Time Lock, it's not possible."

"Apparently, I did. Must've left myself a gap, somewhere along the line. Left that bit out of my memory. Bit confusing, me. Have no idea when or where I've left holes, till bad things start happ'n. I didn't mean to come back." He lowers his voice. "Occasionally I'll come by just to look. See the blank space, the hole…Gallifrey. What was once Gallifrey. In the Time Lock, you can't see it. Well, you can't fly close enough to. It's technically still there, just out of time. I didn't realize where I was until…I landed."

Tatiana stares. "No. It's not—"

"I swear to you, it is." He tells her earnestly. "Tati, let me show you."

The Doctor hadn't planned on tormenting the girl in such a way. But she gave him no choice, insisting he was wrong, lying for his own interests. He could let her dwell on the negative thoughts. The soon she realized her fate, the sooner she would move on. It was kinder, honestly.

He sets new coordinates, never taking his eyes away from the quivering girl. She returned the stare defiantly.

"It's set less than an hour after we left." The Doctor says quietly. "You can check for yourself." And she does, leaning close to screen. After seeing the proper time and date, Tati pulls away. She brushes his jacket in the same motion, jumping back from the contact.

It's only seconds. The TARDIS halts mercilessly. Her hums are confused, screeching. She's not landed on any planet, anything solid. This is _wrong. _

"Look." A long finger traces the screen, showing Tati where they ought to be. In Gallifreyian, the coordinates are set, clearly their homeworld as the destination. But there is a huge blank on the screen where there ought to be a planet.

She lets out a breath. Then her legs are moving, almost of their own accord, and she's at the door and it's open and all she can see is empty, cold space and stars and….

Nothing.

No Gallifrey.

Then he's behind her, chest to her back, hands on her shoulders, whispering a broken _"Sorry. So sorry."_

**XXXXXXXXX**

For the longest time, all she can do is stare into the empty bit of space that was once her home. She sits in the threshold, legs crossed, head against the solid, worn wood. He stands just behind her, against a column. There's nothing that can be said.

Tatiana's mind has slowed to rolling only a few words 'round and 'round: _"Sorry. So sorry."_

"_Gallifrey, it's gone."_

"_There isn't anyone left. I wouldn't be on my own by choice, but I haven't got a choice."_

This is what she's being reduced to—a thousand years alone. The last of the Time Lords. Alone.

Or not. Will she get a choice? Will he require her to remain with him, always? Is she the result of some attempt to starve off his loneliness? She is nobody, nothing! She's a stupid kid who is already on her second regeneration, a kid who hasn't even been to university yet. He should've picked someone better. There were many brilliant students half her age who know—knew-how to fly TARDISes and were only about as half as annoying as she was. Surely thousands would kill to be in her place, to be survivors. Why her?

More silences passes between the Gallifreyian pair before the Doctor shifts toward the younger girl. He hesitates, then starts with, "It's been a stressful day. Go to bed, Tati."

"I…am not tired."

He sighs. "You need rest. I promise, I won't move the TARDIS. This," He gestures to the unbearable blank. "will still be here when you wake."

The girl is suspicious, eyes darkening. But she stands slowly, jerking away when he offers her a hand. Tati meets his eyes and he flinches. There is no hate, but an aching, unveiled pain. A pain he can easily recognize, seeing as it's been reflected to him in countless mirrors. He once thought it was a personal pain, one no creature could ever share. Well, he has been proven wrong already once today. Someone could take part in this pain. He only wishes he were wrong…

Tati leaves to sleep. He showed her a spare room just a few hours ago. Hopefully the TARDIS would show her where it was, or perhaps move it. But he feared she wouldn't wish to trust his ship. She hadn't trusted him.

The Doctor moves to sit in the captain's chair. Perhaps she will find a way to trust him once more. After all, he is the last connection she has.

He cannot help but feel slightly comforted by this thought.

He isn't very proud of this.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

The following morning finds them in the kitchen once more. She holds a cup of tea between frozen hands; her entire body has been cold since the news struck her. The Doctors sits, entirely disheveled, sipping his own tea and picking away at a scone. Tati watches, eyes half-lidded and crusted with sleep and tears. Neither can find any proper words to express their turbulent emotions. Perhaps there is nothing to be said. All the words had already been express, all cards set upon the table. They're both unsure of which course to take.

Finally, after downing the dregs of his tea, the Doctor stands. He moves cautiously to put his mug in the sink, then to lean beside Tatiana. She stiffens.

"I'm not sure what to tell you."

Tati cocks her head, listening.

"This…" He pulls one hand up to his chest, placing it between his hearts. They were both beating double time, pounding out a waltz or a conga or some other human dance he used to love. "…pain, it doesn't leave. Ever. You won't forget. You _can't _forget. And you shouldn't. But, as time goes on, it…changes. The feeling is still pain. But it puts your life into a new perspective and…things become easier. Over time. You value lives more. You're…better."

He pauses. "I know this life that I've got—if you can even call it a 'life'—isn't appealing. But it all I have to offer. It's no Gallifrey, but I'm as close to home as you'll ever be. You can stay, if you want."

Tati slowly puts down her mug, winding both arms around herself. "I think," she whispers. "I  
need you, too. You're my last bit of home and…you need somebody."

He starts, then draws back. "You still have a choice," The Doctor says softly. "I'm not going to force you into staying. I know you didn't want this—"

"I don't have to like it now." Tati continues. "But we're all we've got, you and I. There isn't anyone else. I know you're older, and this…life…is risky—everyone always blathered on about how quickly you went through regenerations—so one day I'll be alone again." Her voice quivers. "But I can't think of anywhere else to go. And you'll need me for real some day. "

With this said, the Doctor drops his hands to stare. She is brilliant. Just brilliant. _Fantastic_.

Tati shifts to look at him, wide eyes hurrying down, a blush spreading over her fair cheeks. She reminds him of Jenny. So, maybe she's not a daughter. Not even a friend, yet. But she could be. She could be that, and so much more. He realizes, now, what he's given himself. Because it simply _must _have been him who left the gap open. He had met her, Tatiana. Seen her, and knew they had a bright future ahead of them. The Doctor had left himself a chance to regain a bit of Gallifrey, to save at least one life.

"Tell me something," Tatiana says later, refilling her mug. She scoops in a generous lump of sugar. "This…life. What is it like?"

He hands her the cream, feeling a grin growing on his cold face, lips pulling back to reveal a crooked smile. A sense of adventure is rising inside him. Hope.

"Well," The Doctor starts. "It involves a lot of running."

**This is something like my…5th, maybe 8****th**** Doctor piece? Maybe? This was started about five weeks ago, abandoned, then reworked to iron out any wrinkles. I hope you've enjoyed reading. Reviews would be amazing! Please and thank you!**


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